


Unexpected

by Syaunei



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Demisexual Din Djarin, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Good Parent Din Djarin, Inappropriate Use of Black Turtlenecks, Leia rips Luke a new one for not giving Din a way to contact them, M/M, POV Din Djarin, Slow Burn, Soft Din Djarin, Sparring, The Mandalorian Darksaber (Star Wars), Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Training, everybody wants to see Din's ass on the throne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-20 19:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30009921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syaunei/pseuds/Syaunei
Summary: It's been six months since Din and Grogu parted ways, and he's struggling to forget the kid.As a favor to Cara, Din takes a bounty that takes him to Coruscant - where he meets someone unexpected...
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa/Han Solo, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 127
Kudos: 234





	1. Coruscant

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm, so. This is my first work for this ship (my previous writing forays into Star Wars were limited to KotOR, but those never saw the light of day, since they died in my wip folder).
> 
> I have no idea how many chapters this is going to turn out to be, and judging by anything I write, the answer will likely be more than any estimate I give, haha. That said, I'm writing this solely because I fell down an unexpected rabbit hole and I have to write something before my newfound enthusiasm wanes!
> 
> My apologies to Garashir readers who may have expected a new fic - you get some of this instead! XD
> 
> P.S. This follows no particular canon, as I pick and choose what I like and what makes sense to me.

It's been six months. Din would like to think that he's not counting, but he absolutely kriffing is, because every day without the kid feels bleak and empty. He likes to imagine that Grogu is happy with his own kind – with the Jedi, but the fact remains – he cannot be _sure_. So he just flies from place to place in his new ship and laments the loss of the Razor Crest, not just for the familiarity of it all, but also because the mere sight of new and different helm controls, and the relatively intact upholstery on the seats in the cockpit reminds him that the kid isn't there anymore. Whenever he remembers, he digs the little metal ball out of his pocket and has to fight the burning in his eyes all over again. He misses the child, desperately; still remembering that tiny clawed hand pressing gently against his bared cheek.

It had been the right choice to reveal his face, even if it required him breaking the Creed for it – if anyone deserved to see his face, it was his foundling. The Jedi had no idea of the importance of Din removing his helmet, but it had been a small price to pay at the time. No matter how much it pains him to have broken his oath, for Grogu...he would do it again.

He shakes his head and checks his nav computer again. This bounty he's taken on was taking him to the Core, which didn't appeal one bit. People are...different there. More polite, for sure, but also more ruthless. Out on the Rim, he could usually read people fairly well, but Core folk...they played an altogether different game. The Zabrak he was currently tracking was headed there, so Din really had no other choice. Giving up on a bounty half-way wasn’t his style. Besides, it was a favor to Cara, who occasionally got forwarded the ‘most wanted list’ as part of her Republic Marshall gig. He figured he would do her a favor and pick up some trash along the way.

*

Coruscant is an absolute nightmare. He knows he’s been vetted by Cara and is as such free to roam around in the heart of the New Republic, but he still feels very separated from the kind of people who live here. Everything is shiny and new – gleaming speeders, immaculate fashions, polished shop-fronts… Needless to say, everything is more expensive, too. No wonder he prefers junkyard pit stops with their wonky second or third-hand spare parts and mildly diluted fuel, as he’s pretty damn sure that even welding a small fracture in his hull would cost him a few months worth of earnings if he took it to a mechanic here.

The weirdest thing is that he doesn’t even seem to attract as much attention as he is used to. Out in the Rim, people either stay the hell out of his way, or take his armor as invitation to try and murder him for the beskar. Here, he’s just a helmet in the throng. Perhaps people here are more used to the Mandalorians – he knows some choose to pursue careers as bodyguards for certain Senators. It’s probably a cushier choice than bounty-hunting out in the ass end of nowhere. All Din knows for sure is that he’d rather be swallowed by a Krayt dragon again than make nice with some kriffing politicians.

He takes out his tracking fob and watches the blinking light’s rhythmic pulsing. His mark is close. The only issue with cities this big is that there are so many people packed together that he could be literally a wall apart from his mark and not know where they are. The tall buildings sure don’t help. He could always jetpack up there, but he’s fairly sure it’s against the law to zip around in the traffic – another reason to hate this place. Too many damned rules to keep up with.

The only upside he can see so far is less attempts on his life, but that’s liable to change the second he catches up with his mark and any of the woman’s associates. Child slavers deserve way worse than the forced labor the New Republic is likely to punish them with, but Din is happy to bring her and any of her friends in regardless.

A quick look at his fob assures him that he is indeed going in the right direction, for what that’s worth in this overcrowded city. He has a choice, duck into a side street now, or at the next corner. He almost keeps walking when a niggling feeling in the back of his mind tells him to stop. A Mandalorian couldn’t get far without trusting both their instincts and training, so he’s inclined to listen, even if the instances of it being quite so _loud_ are rare.

With a muttered apology, he bypasses a pair of Sullustans and ducks left into an alley. Even alleys are disturbingly clean here. Din doesn’t trust clean places, since the only places that tend to be this spotless are Imperial installations, so there’s quite the unfortunate correlation in his mind.

The fob is blinking more insistently and he hurries along, dodging people standing in front of an eatery and heads deeper into the alley. He passes a bakery, a flower shop and is just about to check his fob again when he catches sight of a Zabrak woman exiting a building. Orange skin and dark purple tattoos on her face – that’s definitely his quarry. He’s about to say something when she looks right at him and spits out an undoubtedly venomous curse, reaching for her blaster. He doesn’t want civilians to get caught in the crossfire, so he runs straight at her, ignoring the blaster bolt that pings harmlessly off his helmet. He really hates the ones who start shooting where anyone could get hurt. There are kids in this alley, _dank farrik_!

He smacks the blaster out of her hand and when she tries to make a run for it, fires his grappling line at her. She goes down like a hooked fish and keeps squirming, screaming expletives at him.

“I’d stop resisting if I were you,” Din warns her, “unless you want a face full of flamethrower.”

“I can…double the bounty you got on me!” She exclaims desperately, and he only scoffs at it. He wonders if anyone will ever try diplomacy as a first, rather than last resort. Not that it matters.

“I’m not interested,” Din states coldly.

The woman licks her lips nervously. “Triple it? I got friends who’d be willing to pay-“

“I don’t negotiate with slavers,” Din cuts her off flatly, “now, you can either get cuffed and escorted to the nearest Republic Marshall, or I can hurt you more before I drag you to one half-dead. Your choice.”

She seems to be weighing her options when a female voice reaches him.

“I suggest you take option number one, madam Triz. Mandalorians aren’t known for their patience.”

Din keeps his flamethrower pointed at the Zabrak woman, and looks to his left, where a decent-looking brunette stands, holding a transparent box full of… _frogs_? Din’s heart squeezes at the sight. He hopes wherever the child may be, it has plenty of frogs to eat.

“You know this piece of scum?” Din addresses her, hoping he won’t need to restrain her as well, when she chuckles.

“I know the most wanted list. We’ve been looking for Triz for over a year.”

“We?” Din asks.

Triz curses, but Din pays her no mind. She’s not likely to go anywhere.

“Any Senator worth their salt keeps an eye out for these kinds of things,” She says with a smile and then looks his quarry’s way. “I wouldn’t recommend that, Triz.”

Din looks down and is unsurprised to see his mark clutching the grip of a vibroblade. Before he can yank it out of her grip, however, it’s torn out of her hand by an invisible force. Din’s eyes widen behind his helmet and he looks at the brunette, wondering if she too has the strange powers like the Jedi.

“Oh, it wasn’t me,” she chuckles like the sight of something invisible and impossible is a common occurrence. Din is about to ask who it could have been, half-expecting to see the Jedi, or maybe even Ahsoka Tano, but then he catches sight of someone he half-expected never to see again.

There he is - standing on the threshold of a pet shop, his little hand outstretched, his dear little face scrunched up in concentration as the vibroblade flies through the air and clatters, useless, to the floor beneath the shop window.

“Kid?” Din stammers in disbelief, and is answered by a happy gurgle and a soft twitch of fuzzy green ears.

“Bwa!” Grogu burbles and waddles towards him. Din drops to his knees immediately and reaches for the child, his eyes welling with tears.

Big soulful eyes regard him with so much love and affection that he can feel his broken heart mending in an instant. With a shaking hand, he gently takes one of Grogu’s ears between his fingers and caresses him just like he used to.

“I missed you too, Grogu,” Din says, uncaring that his voice is shaking with emotion. “You got better at that Force thing, huh? You sure you’re not gonna faint on me, pal?”

Grogu reaches his little arms up at him, clearly wanting to be held.

“I hate to interrupt, but we should bring your bounty in, Mandalorian – before I have to Force-levitate her through the streets. I am trying to keep a low profile.”

“Are you with the Jedi?” Din asks, “Where is Grogu’s teacher?”

The woman looks dismayed for a moment. “Why are you calling him…no-don’t tell me… Didn’t he at least introduce himself?”

Din shakes his head and for a moment, there’s fire in her eyes.

“I’m going to kill him when I see him. He took your son from you without even offering _his name_?”

“I…I didn’t think to ask,” Din says lamely.

She grits her teeth for a moment, clearly plotting the Jedi’s demise. Din has a feeling she can make good on it, too.

“That absolutely mannerless, scatter-brained little…” She growls, visibly annoyed before taking a deep breath to compose herself. “I knew I should have gone with him!”

“So…who is he? I just assumed he wanted to be secretive… Sorcerer order and all that.”

“That tactless… _marvel-_ “ She goes on, upset still, “-is my stupid twin brother, Luke Skywalker.”

Twin? Din stares at her and can’t really see much of a resemblance. Unless you count a scary aura of competence.

“Luke’s away on Republic business, he should be back tomorrow,” She remarks with resignation, and then her veneer of politeness shatters as she hisses, “oh for the love of-“ and before Din can even parse what’s happening, there’s a blue bolt fired from a blaster he hadn’t noticed the woman carrying before, and Triz is lying on the floor, out cold.

“There we go, we can finally talk uninterrupted,” The woman continues mildly, like she hadn’t just stunned one of the most wanted criminals in the galaxy. Is it just him, or is she way more competent than her polished exterior suggests? “I don’t suppose you know who I am, either?”

“Mwah!” Grogu smacks his little hand against Din’s shin guard, and he’s momentarily distracted by how adorable it is. Unable to resist, Din picks him up and settles him snugly in the crook of his elbow, petting his little head reverently. Only then does he remember that a question had been posed.

“I’m not really into politics…it doesn’t really matter in the Outer Rim.”

“I see,” She graces him with a small smile and Din can’t help but feel like his answer actually _pleased_ her. It makes no sense whatsoever.

“Leia Organa, pleasure to meet you. Now, why don’t we bring this trash to the nearest detainment facility, so you can have the rest of the day to catch up with the little one?”

Din might not know exactly who she is, beyond suspecting she’s some kind of political hotshot, maybe even a Senator; but he kind of likes her already. Anyone willing to let him spend time with the kid is ok in his book. Hoisting up the unconscious Zabrak over his shoulder, he addresses Leia –

“Lead the way.”


	2. A Perfect Hostess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Leia take out the trash, and she offers to take him to her apartment so he can spend the rest of the day with Grogu.

After they haul the slaver's ass into a well-deserved jail cell, Din's suspicions about Leia Organa's importance are confirmed, as all the staff scrapes and bows to her, which she smiles graciously at. That smile, however, doesn't reach her eyes.

Good. That means she hates being fawned over, which is a further point in her favor.

“My apartment is not far, about ten minutes away by landspeeder.”

Din nods in acquiescence and heads to what he assumes is her personal landspeeder that she’d parked outside the Marshal’s office. He sits shotgun and checks in on Grogu, who’s happily snuggled against his side, snoozing lightly with an occasional twitch. Din can’t help but feel like the kid is trying to keep himself awake for his sake, and he wishes they were alone so he could take his helmet off and cuddle with the little one. Only after he’d said his goodbyes on that damned Imperial death trap, did it occur to him that because of his Creed, he’d been denied the simplest touch. Family bonds are sacred to Mandalorians, especially ones involving foundlings, and yet… It seems backwards, somehow, to give everything to raise a child without ever being permitted to touch their skin. He supposes he could have taken off his gloves, found a workaround, but he hadn’t even _thought_ about it.

Din wishes he didn’t feel the need to re-examine everything he’d been taught. It’s a dangerously slippery slope, and it terrifies him. If he lets one part of the Creed go by the wayside…what else would he be willing to compromise on? It’s not a comforting thought.

The Senator doesn’t speak the entire way, and he’s absurdly grateful for it. It gives him space to focus on the child snuggled against his breastplate, and time to come to the realization that this is real – that he’s holding his son, and isn’t expected to hand him over immediately to some powerful Jedi sorcerer who can crush a Dark Trooper with nothing but his mind.

Din had barely managed to best one, while Luke Skywalker mowed down an entire platoon. It puts into perspective just how _small_ he is, compared to a trained Jedi. Even clad in full beskar and armed with a spear to match, what could he hope to do if the Jedi decided to crush his windpipe, like the kid almost did with Cara? The Armorer had told him that the Jedi used to be enemies, and Din fervently hopes that he will never have cause to make an enemy of Luke Skywalker.

Ironically enough, the Jedi’s show of force was exactly what made Din comfortable with the idea of handing over the kid in the first place. A man that powerful could keep Grogu safe from anyone, even Imperial remnants.

“I was told that you defeated Moff Gideon,” Organa says conversationally, and Din feels uncomfortable immediately.

“He was threatening the kid,” He reasons, as that’s the only thing worth saying.

Organa chuckles. “Hope you treated yourself to something nice from cashing in that bounty. I know it was sizeable.”

Is this small-talk? Din hates it. Still, he feels compelled to say _something_.

“Got a new ship.”

She looks at him from the driver’s seat and her lips quirk up.

“Any bells and whistles?” Organa inquires and Din wonders why she’d even care what a bounty-hunter like him pilots.

“Some.” He says simply and leaves it at that. There’s no way a Senator would really care about the upgraded armaments on his ship, or the new carbonite freezing system. Supposedly this one reduces the mortality rate from 60% to 45%. He’s still not entirely sure why he splurged on that. He still has half of that bounty left over, saved for a rainy day.

Luckily, the Senator seems to get the hint and stops this line of inquiry.

“Well, if you ever need repairs, I’d be happy to make Luke fix it for free.”

Din’s taken aback by that. Would a Jedi even need to know how to fix stuff? How talented is this guy, exactly?

“The way I see it, my idiot brother owes you. The least he can do is help you out – should you need it.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Din has absolutely no intention of asking the Jedi for anything. If the siblings want to fight over perceived slights or whatever, they are free to do so without getting him involved.

The landspeeder slows down and a garage door creaks open, doors folding in on themselves. Organa brings them into a modest-sized parking area, filled with all sorts of vehicles. He can’t recall the last time he saw so many new models of…anything, really. Din gets up and follows behind as she heads for the lift that will undoubtedly take them up to the higher floors. Once the doors to the lift close behind them, she presses the button for the highest floor.

He should have known.

The place is so kriffing _clean_. All the surfaces are gleaming white and silver, the exact opposite of what he considers comfortable. There are so many damned windows, as well. He hopes the glass is reinforced, at least. Din feels completely out of place in a place like this, like a blurrg tracking muddy footprints all over the Senate’s pristine chambers. He doesn’t think there’s a way the situation could possibly get any worse, when a tinny voice exclaims excitedly: “Mistress Leia! You’ve returned!”

Din takes an instinctive step back. It just _had_ to be a kriffing droid. And a chatty one at that. Din glares at the gold droid with distrust.

“Ah, and I see you’ve brought a guest! How wonderful!”

The moment the shiny clanker thinks to approach, Din draws his blaster.

“Ten feet away from me, _droid_.”

The golden monstrosity’s arms go up in surrender as he gesticulates in a falsely upset manner. Whoever thought a droid needed to emulate real people’s mannerisms deserves to be tossed into a lava flow on Nevarro. Then he remembers IG-11 and can’t help the slight pang on his conscience.

“My word, how rude! Shall I call law-enforcement?”

“No, everything’s fine, Threepio,” Organa soothes the polished bucket of bolts, “Our guest shall lower his weapon,” and here she looks at Din meaningfully, until he lowers his blaster reluctantly, “and you will follow his request to keep your distance, all right? Here, take these frogs into the tank.”

“Ahh, snacks for young Master Grogu, most splendid!” The droid picks up the box and twaddles away and out of sight, disappearing down a long corridor.

“Excuse C-3PO, he’s a protocol droid and he’s always eager to talk to my guests. He's perfectly harmless.”

“Just-” Din hesitates, “-keep him away from me.”

“Alright.” Organa agrees easily – _too easily,_ almost like she can tell just how much they make his skin crawl. “Why don’t I take you to the guest room? I’m sure you’d like to have some time alone with your son.”

Din nods again, not trusting himself to speak.

She takes him down the corridor and opens the third door to the right, revealing an extravagantly furnished room – an enormous bed that seems designed to accommodate three people his size comfortably, a table with a mirror that looks eminently breakable as well as expensive, and a small sitting area with a dainty low table and some armchairs he fears he would break the second he sat into them.

“There’s an ensuite bathroom, if you’d like to freshen up. Dinner would usually be served in around an hour, but I’ll bring it here instead, so I don’t disturb you. The door locks from the inside, so there’s no chance of me barging in on you.”

Din swallows around the lump in his throat at the unexpected kindness.

“Would that be alright?” She asks gently, and he only manages to croak out a feeble – “Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll knock when the dinner is ready. Make yourself at home.”

Her smile is kind and understanding as she pulls the door closed behind her, and even though he feels nothing but gratitude, he rushes forward to lock it behind her.

The second that’s done, he rips off his helmet and lets it drop on the side table before burying his face into the sparse, downy hair on the kid’s head. He breathes him in, the scent of his _son_ , as the enormity of it all finally catches up to him. He slides down the door, scraping all the way, and the moment he hits the carpeted floor, he sobs.

Grogu coos in his arms, and Din lets himself go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I'd love to know what you think, and tune in next time - with Din being perplexed by all the luxury around him, and being a perfect dad.
> 
> He's so damn soft, I'm dying. I love this guy.


	3. In the Lap of Luxury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia brings them dinner and bids them good night. Din feels mighty uncomfortable surrounded by the luxury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introspective chapter full of soft dad moments. I promise, the plot picks up in chapter 4 when Luke arrives!

As promised, an hour later there's a knock on the door. Din wipes his face and pulls his gloves back on. In the mirror, he catches sight of himself and is grateful for the helmet, as it hides a multitude of sins. No one should see his red-rimmed and swollen eyes. Once it's safely back on, he sighs in relief.

Grogu is sitting on the bed, his long ears flickering in anticipation, and Din smiles.

“You hungry?”

The child warbles something indecipherable, but Din knows the answer can only ever be _yes_ , because the kid is _always_ hungry.

The knock comes again, and Din takes a deep breath. He only needs to take the tray of food and then they will hopefully be left alone for the rest of the day. He walks across the room, wincing at the idea of ruining the carpet with his boots. He should really take them off… The latch clicks open beneath his gloved fingertips and the door opens a crack.

Organa is there, smiling with a heavily laden tray in hand.

“I’m not sure what you like, so there’s a selection. If you’d like anything else, I can always order it.”

Din is intensely uncomfortable with the idea that a woman as busy as her would go out of her way to cater to someone like him.

“I’m not picky,” He assures her, “I’m sure this is great.”

“Grogu likes some of these, so you can share.”

Din looks down among the bowls and spies a closed container with a single, dark brown frog sitting calmly in it. He knows that one is reserved for the child, and can’t help the swell of gratitude in his chest. This woman clearly loves Grogu, and is attentive to his needs. Whether the Jedi is around or not, Grogu is obviously in good hands.

“Thank you,” Din says earnestly, meaning every word.

She hands him the platter and he takes it, balancing it carefully. It’s heavier than it looks. Once it’s safely deposited on the low table, he turns and realizes she’s still hovering near the door but not entering the room.

“Needless to say, you can leave any time you want, but if you do, I’d appreciate a heads up, just so I know where Grogu is.” Din’s pride prickles, and then she goes on, forestalling his temper, “I know you are perfectly capable of protecting your son, this is just a precaution.”

“I don’t need to be anywhere urgently,” Din admits, “I’ll just need to call Cara at some point, to tell her I got the bounty, but I don’t need to leave for that.”

“Wonderful. I’ll notify you when my brother arrives.”

Din inclines his helmet, biting his tongue. He won’t ask how long he has left with the kid before he’s taken away. This is already plenty.

“Enjoy your meal and good night,” She wishes them pleasantly, waving at Grogu, who burbles happily in response.

The moment the doorstep is free of her presence, Din locks the door and sighs.

It’s not even dark out yet, and she had wished them good night, almost like she could tell that he wanted to be left alone with the kid. Maybe he was being too obvious but he can’t bring himself to care.

The helmet comes off with ease, and he can’t help but be bolstered by Grogu’s immediate reaction to seeing his face again – his little arms extending upwards, tiny clawed fingers clenching and unclenching slightly in a grabby gesture. He may not be able to communicate with the kid through the Force, but he is proud of being able to understand Grogu’s mannerisms most of the time.

“Let me just take off the armor and then we can go eat, ok?”

“Bwah!” Grogu exclaims, seemingly on board with the idea.

The fact that the kid would rather be patient, watching Din take off his armor (which is a lengthy process), rather than go dive into that carefully prepared platter of food is beyond endearing.

So Din talks him through it, removing each piece of his armor while explaining how it comes off, and which systems it contains. One by one, the beskar is removed, and Din arrays the pieces neatly on the mirrored table, checking for any damage to his armor. Luckily, there’s none. A Mandalorian’s armor is his life, quite literally. Without it, Din would have been dead a hundred times over. The Tribe had given him a shelter, training, and a skill set that enabled him to make a decent living. In his mind, he is forever indebted to them. This is why he clings to the Creed – it made him into who he is - someone capable of protecting others.

His tired eyes are an unwelcome sight. He’s a traitor to the Creed, a traitor to the people who took him in and saved him from certain death; people whose Code he’s adopted in gratitude. And even if Bo-Katan and her associates take their helmets off easily, even if the Creed means something completely different to them, Din cannot be like them, because this is who he _is_ \- who he was _made_ to be.

“This is the Way,” He speaks to the mirror wearily, wondering whether the Armorer would cast him out, spurning him on sight. Would his covert descend upon him and strip him of his armor?

Who is Din Djarin without the heavy beskar protecting all of his vulnerabilities?

If he’s not a Mandalorian, he is…nothing.

He is nothing, because he doesn’t know how to be anything else.

The realization is jarring and painful. His breathing quickens, and he can hear a sound of distress from his son.

“I’m alright, kid…just…let’s just eat, ok?”

For the second time today, he pulls off his gloves and picks up the kid, soaking up the sight of his big beautiful eyes. The lump in his throat is swallowed, and he drops a long, lingering kiss on the top of Grogu’s head, breathing him in.

Now that he’s in his underclothes, he feels slightly less apprehensive about sitting on the fancy armchairs. Perhaps he should have taken a shower before dinner, but he doesn’t want to make the kid wait, so he just grabs his cloak, flips it around so the (hopefully cleaner) inner side is touching the chair, and he drapes it carefully over the seat and the backrest. Once he deems it well-arranged, he sits, placing Grogu in his lap.

He hadn’t lied to the Senator, he’s really not picky. He could never afford to be. Everything he tastes is perfectly edible, and seasoned well. A little bit of spice wouldn’t go amiss, but that would be like complaining that the Bantha’s horns curled outwards.

Every bowl is offered to Grogu, who either enthusiastically grabs a fistful, or wrinkles his nose and narrows his eyes with a sound of displeasure.

“Have you become picky in my absence, kid?” Din chastises him affectionately, “There was a time you’d literally put anything in your mouth.”

“Ngah!” Grogu comments, clearly firm in whatever his opinion is, and Din can’t find it in his heart to care. As long as the child is happy and fed, nothing else matters.

“Still, this is pretty good, huh?” Din says as he picks up some kind of deep-fried morsel, and can’t stop the grin as Grogu follows the trajectory to his mouth. Taking that as interest, he picks up another and hands it to the kid, who happily accepts it, holding onto it with both hands and looking up at Din with what could be interpreted as gratitude, before stuffing it into his mouth like the galaxy’s most adorable little sarlacc.

It doesn’t take long to polish off the rest of the dinner between them, with Din dutifully eating the few bits Grogu won’t touch, and then there’s only the frog left.

“Time for dessert, huh?” Din says softly, picking up the small transparent box.

Grogu’s ears perk up and his little hands turn grabby again, eyes focused on the prize. Din pets Grogu gently with his left hand, enjoying the soft, leathery texture of the child’s pale green skin. The colors look so much softer now that he’s no longer looking at his son through the visor of his helmet. He enjoys the sight.

There a curious burbling sound and he’s torn from his musings, realizing that Grogu is waiting for permission to eat his dessert.

“I guess the Jedi taught you some manners? Or was it his sister?” Din’s money is on her.

Grogu stares at the box, flailing his little arm, and Din opens the container. The frog looks about ready to jump out when the kid snatches it, lightning quick, and has it stuffed half-way into his mouth before Din even has a chance to blink.

He wonders whether what he’s feeling is paternal pride.

Now that they are fed, his priorities shift.

“Why don’t we take a shower, pal?”

Grogu looks up at him and burps. It makes Din chuckle.

“I don’t wanna ruin the sheets, kid. That would be rude to the Senator.” Not to mention expensive. He really doesn’t feel like paying for damages. Or even worse, having Organa wave it all away as par for the course. He can be tidy if he wants to! He just doesn’t usually _need_ to. Besides, every time he lands on a desert planet, the sand gets absolutely _everywhere_ , and cleaning up is more trouble than it’s worth.

Seeing how the kid doesn’t look too opposed, Din scoops him up and heads to the bathroom.

The second he steps in, he becomes acutely aware that this is by far the most luxurious accommodation he’s ever set foot into. It’s kind of intimidating, really. He’d expected a new sonic unit or something, but in its place there’s a shower mounted over what looks like a pool, and he goggles at it. A kriffing Hutt could fit into this thing!

He tries to operate the controls and fumbles for a moment when nothing happens. He can feel his face flushing with embarrassment. Is he so dumb that he can’t operate a simple shower? It takes a few more fumbling tries - pushing, pulling and twisting the lever, before the mechanism relents and starts spewing water out. Panicking, Din turns it off immediately.

How wasteful – having a tub this big! He bet if he filled it half-way, it would be more water than Tuskens living on Tattooine saw in a month. Still, no matter how much he looks around the bathroom, there is no sonic shower in sight, and he resigns himself. A brief inspection of the mirrored cabinet above the gleaming white sink yields a whole array of cleansing products, even a sonic shaver. It reminds him that he could really use a trim, as his uneven facial hair is starting to become annoying.

With a sigh, he picks something at random and sniffs it. The label assures him it’s non-lethal, which is good enough for him. He staunchly ignores the marketing claims of _‘assured softness for most types of_ _skin’_ and places the container on the rim of the tub. That done, he gets Grogu out of his grubby little outfit and realizes it’s been washed since he last saw the kid. For a brief moment, he feels like a failure, but the trust in those big warm eyes reassures him. It’s not like cleanliness was a priority where they used to live.

He places the kid in the tub, and then sets about divesting himself. If there was a sonic unit, he could have given his clothes a wash too, but with water, he can’t chance it. It takes forever to dry, and it’s not like he has a spare outfit. He chucks the remainder of his clothing into the sink and steps into the tub.

Din picks Grogu up, and is careful to keep him away from the spray as he turns it on. He fixes the temperature to something moderate and the kid squeals in delight.

“Got a taste for luxury, hmm? Don’t get used to it.”

Grogu ignores him and flails his little arms in the spray. Din wastes no time getting them both clean, and even washes his hair in the process. Might as well, he reasons, as he’s already soaked from head to toe.

The moment he deems them both sufficiently rinsed, he turns off the shower and reaches for the gargantuan towel draped over a rack. It’s ridiculously soft under his fingertips, but he doesn’t spend much time dwelling on it. The kid is making a face at him, upset over the lack of water, but Din is firm.

“Wasting water is bad, Grogu. We’re clean and we don’t need any more.”

He gets a distressed, almost whiny noise of complaint for his troubles, so he wraps the kid up and ruffles him up to get him dry, which elicits a delighted little shriek, and he knows he’s forgiven. With care, he dresses Grogu back into his little outfit and places him on the floor next to the tub. Belatedly, he notices the floor is wet and is about to say something, but the kid is off, waddling back towards the room. Din shrugs and lets him.

It gives him time to dry his hair and wipe himself down, removing any excess water clinging to his skin. Once he’s done, he steps out and hangs the towel back on the rack. He picks up the clothes from the sink and pads to the living area on bare feet, where he drapes everything over the armchair still covered with his cape.

Sufficiently reassured that he won’t stain anything that might be a pain to clean, he turns towards the bed, witnessing Grogu’s successful attempts at climbing onto the bedding.

Din wants to call Cara, but that bed looks awfully tempting, and the kid looks snoozy, so he just resolves to give her a call tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke was supposed to arrive, but Din just wanted to cuddle his son and I couldn't resist him!
> 
> Next chapter - Luke gets chewed out by Leia!


	4. The Jedi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke arrives and Din is not happy about having to interrupt his cuddles with Grogu. 
> 
> Leia chews Luke out, and breakfast is a tense affair...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I have 18 chapters plotted out so far... And that's probably a half-point, so... I hope you like long-ass slow burn?? My condolences!

Din wakes with a start, and his violent flinch rouses the child. With soft shushing and a kiss, he soothes Grogu until he snuggles back in and falls asleep once more.

It feels beyond strange to be lying nude beneath the covers - it's a first for him. This entire apartment feels like a different world, with its fancy furniture, fully functioning fixtures and almost disconcertingly soft textiles. He runs his hand against the smooth surface of the bedcovers, committing its sheen and texture to memory. Not even his childhood bed was this soft, even though he’s fairly certain its comforts are exaggerated in his memory. He can barely remember any of his childhood before that day when the Mandalorians saved him.

He doesn’t covet luxury, and knows he would be more comfortable sleeping curled up in his old compartment back in the Razor Crest, but he can’t deny that it’s an interesting novelty, at least. Nestled with the child, he feels the kind of contentment he hadn’t known he’d been missing. Calm is definitely a kind of luxury, and he wouldn’t mind being left alone like this for a few more hours... The curtains are drawn, but some light still filters through and he can tell it’s morning. He can’t recall the last time he slept so well. A look down at the snoozing child soothes any discomfort he might feel due to the unfamiliar surroundings.

Love is not exactly a word he’s comfortable bandying about, but he knows in his gut that it definitely applies to the kid.

To his son.

A Clan of two.

Even if the Jedi takes him away again, and Din never finds them again, he now knows that his feelings will never change on the matter – Grogu will always be part of his Clan.

It’s a bit fantastical to think of it in those terms, that he, a foundling, now has a clan of his own. It feels special in a way that eludes definition but luckily, he doesn’t need to explain it to anyone else, and in his head it just makes sense.

Succumbing to the impulse, he nuzzles the kid, earning himself a sleepy noise of disgruntlement that only serves to make his heart swell. This is perfect, and he wishes the moment to stretch on for a while longer so he can enjoy his good fortune.

There’s a noise outside his door and he stiffens in alert.

The doors are definitely locked, but he’d be a fool to think the lock will hold if someone decides to come in. He shushes the dozing child and bundles him up safely before leaving the bed and hastily donning his pants. The second they are fastened, he grabs his helmet and puts it over his head. Better safe than sorry. He dresses as quickly as he is able while trying not to wake the child, carefully snapping his armor back in place and checking his systems one by one. Everything seems in working order, and he foregoes his boots, stalking barefoot to the door to listen in. When he comes near, he hears raised voices.

“You scrawny...hairless bantha! Do you have any idea how ashamed I was yesterday?”

It’s Organa, and she’s reading someone the riot act. Din feels exceedingly glad that he’s not on the receiving end of her ire. There’s a soft thwack from the other side and a mild yelp of pain that sounds like it’s coming from a grown man.

“Ow, Leia! You usually reserve this for Han, what did I do?”

Ah. The Jedi has come back. Din deflates slightly, knowing that his time with the kid is probably up.

“You took a man’s child without leaving him a way to get in touch with you! Do you have any idea how heartbroken and overjoyed he was to see Grogu? What is wrong with you!”

“Leia, I-“ The Jedi tries to defend himself, but his sister cuts him off immediately.

“After everything, did you really want to keep doing the same thing as the old Jedi Order? Don’t you think it’s time to stop the only pervasive rumor that persists in the public consciousness – of the Jedi being child snatchers? I thought you knew better than that!”

For a moment, there’s quiet, and then a barely audible thump and a series of forlorn beeps filters through.

“No… Leia’s right, Artoo,” Skywalker sighs, “I didn’t think beyond reaching the child. There were so many Dark Troopers that I just… You’re right. I should have…I should have done better.”

A feminine sigh penetrates from the other side of the door, and Din can hear the softening in Organa’s voice. “I know you don’t want to advertize your whereabouts, and that you wish to protect the younglings in your care from scrutiny, but there’s no danger from that man, surely you know that. He would rather die than bring harm upon his son.”

“Yeah…” Skywalker agrees easily. “Their bond is very pure. Grogu sees him as a paragon of virtue.”

Organa chuckles. “Of course he does, that’s his father. Don’t tell the Mandalorian that, though, I’m sure he’d be embarrassed to be addressed as such.”

Din flushes behind his helmet, wondering how she’s managed to clock him so accurately. Is she-can she read minds, like Grogu and Ahsoka can? Sensing the thoughts of others. Shit, he hopes not. No wonder people feared the Jedi – who would want someone rummaging through their private thoughts?

Worse yet – can she tell that Din is eavesdropping on them? Is that…rude? He bets they’d think he’s being rude, but he sees it as being vigilant. As far as he knows, more Imperial remnants might be gunning for the kid, and he’s not about to make their job easy.

“Why don’t you head to the kitchen? I need to wake them and invite them to breakfast. You better introduce yourself properly this time!”

“Yeah, I promise,” Skywalker says sheepishly, overwhelmed by his sister.

“Artoo, would you please go join Threepio? At least until after breakfast? He’s missed you.”

That must be the astromech Din saw with the Jedi. There’s a series of bleeps, and a whirr that trails off. Soft footsteps slowly disappear from his earshot, and there’s a firm knock on the door. Din gives himself ten seconds before he opens it.

Her smile is genuine, but he feels caught out regardless, increasingly sure that she knows he’s been listening in.

“Good morning! Slept well?” She asks pleasantly, and he nods.

“Yes, thank you.”

Her eyes lower and Din realizes she’s noticed his bare feet. He flushes furiously beneath the helmet and fervently hopes she won’t say anything about it.

“I don’t give a wampa’s ass about the carpets, you know? Grogu makes way more of a mess than you ever could.”

Din produces an inarticulate noise and wills her to drop the subject, which she actually does, but not before chuckling heartily.

“Why don’t you join us for breakfast? It’s just me and Luke at the moment, since my husband is busy.”

Husband? Din wonders if she’s married to yet another kriffing hotshot, when she continues, “I don’t even want to know what Han’s up to. He says he was looking for spare parts for the Falcon, but I’m not sure I believe him. I’d have better luck getting the truth out of Chewbacca when they get back…”

Wait, what? These tidbits of information jar something in his memory. Chewbacca sounds like a Wookie name, and Han… Soldo? Solo? Wasn’t there a smuggler known for flying the Kessel Run in twelve parsecs? He remembers there used to be a bounty on the guy some years ago, but he hadn’t been interested at the time.

“That wouldn’t be Han Solo, would it?” Din asks, and Organa bursts out laughing.

Din’s visibly taken aback, wondering what he said wrong now.

“Figures you’d know who my no-good husband is!” She’s still laughing, and Din gets the impression she’s not put off in the least.

“If I ever want to drag him home, I’ll hire you to do it!” She chuckles, her eyes alight with mischief. Din wonders what kind of guy would rather keep on doing questionable business if he had a woman this formidable waiting for him back home. Perhaps that was the problem – some men couldn’t handle a strong woman. If she were Mandalorian, he bet she’d be able to kick anyone’s ass, even Bo-Katan’s.

“So…breakfast? My useless brother’s waiting for us in the kitchen. Don’t be too hard on him; he’s currently feeling like a kicked puppy.”

Din isn’t inclined to say anything, and then she delivers a lethal blow – “Feel free to put your boots back on, wouldn’t want you getting a cold. These floors may be pretty, but they’re stupidly chilly.”

She can definitely read minds, and he wonders whether he should start thinking about disassembling his blaster to chase her out with tedium. He goes to grab his boots and checks up on the kid, who is sitting up, rubbing one of his eyes drowsily with a tiny clawed fist. Din steps into his boots and fastens them.

“Grogu?” The kid perks up immediately at the sound of his name, and Din melts a little. “Time for breakfast, buddy.”

He picks up the slightly bleary-eyed kid and follows Organa out into the corridor.

“He slept through the entire night?” She asks, sounding mildly impressed. “He usually sleeps in fits and bursts.”

Din nods, and makes no further comments. He looks down at the kid and wishes he was free to snuggle with him, but they have company. Instead, he contents himself to run a finger down a droopy ear. He has a feeling they both slept exceedingly well because they were in each other’s company, but he’s not fool enough to voice the thought. And if she’s rummaging through his mind, he’s not sure he could stop it either way, so she’s welcome to his thoughts. Most of them are about boring things anyhow. Din doubts she cares about someone as mundane as him.

Organa leads him into a spacious open plan kitchen, and the table’s already laid out with various edibles. Din hopes they will eat all of this, because he loathes the thought of wasting food, though…with the kid here, any excess food is likely to get vaccumed by the ever-hungry little womp rat.

Skywalker’s back is turned, and Din looks at him in assessment. The intimidating black outfit isn’t present, and the man is dressed in a slim-fitting beige shirt, and simple brown trousers. Din can see a bowl of fruit just behind him, and a gloved hand picks up a faintly purple berry Din isn’t familiar with. A split second later, the Jedi turns around, blue eyes wide as he’s about to say something, but only then realizing his mouth is full. His left hand promptly covers his mouth as he all but chokes on the fruit.

Din isn’t sure what the proper response is, so he remains mute. The readout on Din’s visor shows a warmer temperature gradient reading from the Jedi, and he realizes the man is blushing.

There’s a put-upon sigh to his left and he startles, realizing it’s Organa. For a second, he’d lost awareness of everything else.

“I’ll leave you two for a moment, there’s a communiqué from the Senate on my terminal I should check out. Can I trust you both to be civil while I’m gone?”

Din nods and Skywalker mutters a subdued – “Of course…”

She looks at them both like they are unruly children and with a final sharp glare at her brother, she departs.

Skywalker ducks his head in embarrassment and Din realizes for the first time that the man is substantially younger than he initially appeared. Late twenties is his best guess, and he’d eat his gauntlet if the Jedi is a day over thirty. Great, yet another reason to feel outclassed.

“I, uh… Leia gave me quite the dressing down earlier…” The man says sheepishly, and Din wonders where that competent warrior has gone, and who is this stammering youth left in his place. He’s also tempted to say – ‘ _Yeah, I know, I heard it,_ ’ but deems it unwise. “I know I should have done this back on the cruiser, but there were too many people on the bridge behind you, and I didn’t feel like broadcasting my identity… Still, leaving without an introduction seems pretty cruel in hindsight.”

Din holds the kid tighter and says nothing. Skywalker’s face falls for a moment before he takes a deep breath to collect himself. “What I’m trying to say is… Could we start over with this whole introductions thing?” The Jedi says with a hint of that same calm he exuded back on Moff Gideon’s ship (well, Bo-Katan’s ship now, technically). He extends the gloved hand towards Din – “Luke Skywalker, at your service.”

Din looks down and wonders why there’s only one glove. He contemplates not shaking the Jedi’s hand but that seems petty, so he shrugs and takes it, testing the grip which is very firm but not overwhelmingly so. Cara would have crushed his hand gleefully and grinned about it afterwards. Din assumes the Jedi are not such battle-thirsty maniacs, at least not unless faced with a platoon of deadly battle droids.

Din realizes the Jedi is not letting go, gaze questioning, and then it dawns on him that he’s expected to share his name.

“Names are…not a thing for my kind.” That’s about as charitable as he feels, and the Jedi’s hand finally falls away.

“Ah, sorry,” Skywalker apologizes. “Anonymity must be important to a bounty hunter, I understand.”

“No,” Din corrects him, “to Mandalorians.” He’s not sure why he feels compelled to clarify, especially when his answer is probably likely to muddy the waters because he now knows that there _are_ Mandalorians out there who don’t feel the same, and freely offer both their names and the sight of their face while he is, as Bo-Katan put it – a member of a ‘ _cult of religious zealots’_. He still isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Oh,” Skywalker says simply, and gestures towards the table in an attempt to change track. “Why don’t we sit and have breakfast? Grogu seems famished.”

Din looks down and sees the Jedi is correct, as Grogu’s eyes are fixed on the table. And while he has no intention of eating in front of anyone, he’s not about to say no, since the kid needs to eat. He takes a seat and observes Skywalker do the same. It’s a rectangular table, and they are separated by a single corner.

The Jedi smiles at him furtively and starts fixing a plate for himself. Din spies one of the things Grogu ate yesterday (with much gusto), and picks it up to bring it within the kid’s reach. The little one wastes no time in stuffing his face, and Din can’t help the small chuckle.

“Hey, don’t choke,” He speaks softly, “this food isn’t going anywhere. Unlike some other kinds you’re partial to.”

There’s a huffed laugh to his right and he realizes his remark made the Jedi smile.

“He does like to go after anything that crawls,” Skywalker remarks wryly. “Or jumps. Or swims.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s only a matter of time before he goes for something avian,” Din says casually. The Jedi starts laughing in earnest, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

“Probably,” Skywalker’s mirth isn’t waning. “When he starts using the Force to hunt, we’re all in trouble.”

Din concurs, thinking that no refrigeration unit or cookie jar would be safe from the kid’s greedy little clutches.

“Bwuh?” The kid looks at him and Din pets his fuzzy ear fondly. Hopefully, the conversation hasn’t given the little menace any ideas. He doesn’t think the kid’s menu really needs expanding, since he’ll eat just about anything.

“Focus on your breakfast, kid,” Din encourages him, and Grogu wastes no time in complying.

Skywalker seems content to munch on a stick of what looks like cheese, and Din turns his attention back to the kid.

“You aren’t going to eat anything?” The Jedi asks, and Din wonders whether explaining it would be worth the effort.

In the end, he sighs -“I can’t.”

“Dietary restrictions?” Skywalker wonders aloud, and Din shakes his head.

“Helmet restrictions.” The moment the words are out, he’s aware that the statement would be absolutely nonsensical to pretty much anyone but him, but it’s too late to take it back. The Jedi looks at him curiously.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean by that.”

Din is tempted to groan, yet contains himself. He’s pretty sure disrespecting a guy who can trash several dozen battle droids without breaking a sweat is a bad idea. Also, he _is_ Grogu’s teacher.

With a heavy sigh, he explains – “The Creed forbids taking it off. No living being should see a Mandalorian’s face.”

“But…” Skywalker starts, gears clearly turning in his head. “I saw-“

“Yeah.”

“So, I wasn’t-“

“No.”

“Then-“

“It was for the kid,” Din says gravely. “I wanted him to see my face, at least once before…” The words get stuck in his throat and die a slow death. That’s enough. The Jedi can hopefully infer the rest.

Skywalker’s eyes widen in shock, before the expression turns remorseful. “I-I didn’t know.”

Din says nothing.

“I’m sorry,” The Jedi blurts out earnestly, and Din believes him. This changes nothing, however. “What… is the penalty for breaking the creed?”

Din deems that to be enough information and refuses to answer. Faced with a wall of silence, Skywalker looks away, face troubled. Satisfied that the man got the hint, Din goes back to the task of feeding Grogu, whose happy sounds are more than enough chatter as far as he’s concerned. The Jedi can keep stewing for a little while longer and no, Din doesn’t feel any guilt over that.

None whatsoever.

At all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like Leia's approach? Any thoughts are precious!
> 
> Also... uh... if anyone can drop me a link to the Din/Luke server... I'd appreciate it! XD

**Author's Note:**

> Do tell me what you think! I do have the barest idea where this is going, but who knows what will actually happen...


End file.
